


If Only He, Too, Could Turn Back Time

by strangerman



Category: Dorohedoro
Genre: tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangerman/pseuds/strangerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I always wondered what reason Thirteen would have for loving Nikaido so much. For him to be so set on it, it had to have been something significant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only He, Too, Could Turn Back Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thirteen is my favorite character, even if he's absolutely irrelevant I love him so so much. Since Q Hayashida hasn't elaborated on his backstory yet, I figured I'd theorize. 
> 
> Also minor spoilers for Nikaido's character.

Thirteen was an odd name for a man who worked in a casino, dealing cards to big sweaty men who clutched their decks between ring covered fingers. They'd all pray for luck while a guy named Thirteen of all things smirked around his cigarette, tapping his nails on the chips, watching blank eyes pouring over their cards. Kind of ironic, isn't it?

For a dude with such a high intensity job, Thirteen was actually sort of stand down fellow. He wasn't much the type of person to square up to formidable challenge. Why pitch in needless effort when one could just take the easy way out? Unless, of course, there was a good reason.

True to his name, though, his luck had proven to be just bad enough to settle him in a bad spot, but not so much to award him any sympathy. This is subjectively worse, to him at least, but karmically he still wasn't about to get anything nice. He thought over all the bullshit that he's been through that, time and time again, proved he was in luck limbo praying for release.

He sighed an exhausted laugh at such thoughts, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, letting the butt of one fizzle out on the ground at his feet, only to find he'd ran out. Again. Already, he could feel his generalized anxiety returning, and it spiked when he found it hard to breathe as nervous butterflies filled his lungs. As cool as he seemed on the surface, the thought crossed his mind that most of his success could be attributed to nicotine.

He held a shaky hand over his face, closing his eyes and cursing his luck. With the other hand, he fidgeted with his lighter.

"Hey Thirteen, are you okay...?"

Thirteen nearly flew out of his skin as the chirping voice of Nikaido sounded from inside the building he was, erm... Loitering at. Yeah, a randomly chosen building to lean against and think. That was it, surely. 

The woman Thirteen saw had a sympathetic expression in her eyes, behind the wisps of blonde hair not tied back by her ponytail. His heart seized at the sight. Perhaps he'd die on the spot.

"A-ahahaha.... I'm fine, nothing to worry about."

"Alright... If you need anything, you let me know." She was smiling. Cordial as always...

He nodded. He couldn't think of anything else to say. It's all been so complicated; all at once he loses her to Kaiman, finds out she's a magic user, and watches her transform slowly into a devil. She'd been getting scarier and harder to reach with each passing day. There was a time when he was certain enough in his convictions to act upon his feelings, but that time was long gone.

His mind wandered back to the time they met. If only he had the same power as Nikaido, he could watch it again at his leisure and remind himself why he was here outside her restaurant, erm... Loitering.

~*~*~

In the world of gambling, skill can only get you so far. Half the battle is luck, and when you're named after the least lucky number most people can think of, it's a pretty good indicator that maybe this isn't the best pastime. Somehow, Thirteen ended up in that shady crowd anyway. He cursed his luck, as he had done countless times before. Blood trickled from a shark toothed mouth, nearly choking on it, breathing hard as he sprinted through dark empty streets. He clutched desperately at deep stab wounds, hoping he wouldn't bleed out while attempting to find solace.

Through the years he'd learned to be shifty and deceitful, but one can't run from greedy gamblers forever. After enough times lying and cheating one's way out of tight spots, they just don't seem to fall for it anymore.

A large man clutching a cigar between yellowed teeth lifted the small dealer from the back of his leather jacket. He turned to the nearest building, and hissed into Thirteen's ear, "Soon you's gonna be a modern art piece on that wall over there."

The wall in question rushed closer to the young man's face at rapid speed. He hit so hard he couldn't even feel the impact, he simply saw stars and bright red splay out in front of him. The only thing he felt was a dull pain in his abdomen and deep set dread in his heart.

Thirteen could feel the blood rushing through his ringing ears, squinting through blurred vision trying to make out how many thugs were in front of him (the largest of which, bald head glinting, cracked his knuckles in preparation). He concluded there were about... Too many.

Slumped against the cold plaster wall behind him, it occurred to him how pathetic of a death this would be. God dammit. Even in death he'd be considered just a troublesome weasel to be discarded with the trash.

When he thought he could see the light, something dragged him back to earth, and then through the door off to his right. He couldn't see anymore, but the room he was in was warm and smelled like freshly baked noodles. Once he thought he'd stopped being moved, there was a pause before he could faintly hear the sounds of a vicious scuffle coming from where he assumed "outside" was. However, trying to listen proved to be a waste of time, as he soon lost consciousness.

When he opened his eyes, all he could see in front of him was a wall of messy golden hair and fluorescent lights. Was he dead? He was in too much pain to be dead... Death should be peaceful, right? Plus he was laying in the booth of a restaurant. Seems a little dumpy for Heaven, but a little too nice for Hell. Even so, everything seemed so surreal and with that many guys after him he couldn't possibly still be alive.

He squirmed under the ministrations of the person who sat over him patching up his wounds. The woman snapped her head around to look at him.

Ah. Surely he must be dead.

Despite being flecked with dried blood, she had an unearthly glow to her slightly round face. It could've been the lights, or maybe he had a concussion, but this crimson stained angel was truly a sight for sore eyes. She looked like a goddess.

She spoke. "Oh! You're awake. Don't worry, I have a real doctor on the way, I'm just trying to patch you up while we wait."

Thirteen blinked, nodded slightly, then gazed dizzily around the room. The space he was in seemed paradoxical, his eyes too crossed to make sense of the physical space. There was a smeared trail of blood that led right up to him, like some macabre red carpet. Under the bright lights, he almost felt like the star of the show.

The mysterious bloody woman spoke up. "What the hell did you do to those guys? They were pretty pissed."

Thirteen cleared his throat, trying to make sure his voice didn't sound pathetic or puny. It kind of did anyway.

"I... I cheated them out of their money..."

"Damn... Well, you shouldn't have to worry about them anymore. I took care of them." She turned back to her first aid kit to dig around for antiseptic.

"Wh... What? You did what?" Thirteen tried to sit up. The effort was wasted as pain shot through his rib cage and he slumped back down on the leather seat.

She stopped.

"I took care of them. This isn't my blood," she pointed at her face. "They were pounding you into the wall of my shop, I couldn't just do nothing y'know... And besides. That wasn't a fair fight anyway. You were vastly outnumbered."

With what little energy he had, Thirteen managed to pull a toothy grin out of himself. Among the tsunami of thoughts echoing in his mind, there was one that rang louder than the rest.

"... Who are you?"

The woman beamed at him, squaring up to face him and taking a customer service posture. Passion glowed in her eyes.

"I'm Nikaido, at your service! This is my shop; I make and sell all the food here! It's called The Hungry Bug if you ever wanna come back and visit... after all this..." She looked a little disheartened.

Thirteen couldn't help but laugh a little (as much as one could while racked with pain). This whole situation was so odd. He'd been pulled back from the brink of death into the arms of the most charming person he'd ever met, who then proceeded to beat the ever loving shit out of his assailants. He was down in one hit, figuratively; his heart seized and if his injuries didn't kill him this feeling surely would. That right there was all it took. Game, set, match.

Gazing into her sparkling eyes, he thought maybe he wasn't so unlucky after all.

~*~*~

"You sure you don't need anything?"

Again, he almost jumped out of his skin when Nikaido's devil horned head peeked from inside The Hungry Bug.

"Y'know, maybe I'll come in and have some gyoza..." He poked around his plaid pockets a minute before realizing he left his wallet at home. Sigh.

Nikaido saw his predicament and didn't miss a beat. "Hm... Maybe if you help clean up shop at the end of the day you can have 'em free of charge. Sound good?"

"Deal."

Soul filled with a warmth to rival the sun, he passed through the threshold that marked the beginning of his most prized friendship. The thought of cigarettes had left his mind completely.


End file.
